Jayla was just taking a deep breath of the crisp morning air when her internal radar screamed a warning.
A sharp whistling sound cut through the wind from her left flank. A blade of compressed water, razor-sharp and moving at lethal speed, sliced through the air toward her neck.
Merfolk water manipulation. Her mind catalogued it instantly — mid-tier technique, well-executed, meant to kill rather than warn. Her body reacted faster than her mind. She didn't step back; she dropped. Her center of gravity plummeted as she bent backward at an impossible angle, her back nearly touching the ground.
The water blade missed her nose by a fraction of an inch. It slammed into the rock wall behind her with a loud crack, leaving a deep, smoking gash in the stone.
The attacker didn't pause. A young female with sea-blue hair burst from the bushes, a sharpened bone spike in her hand. Her eyes were red with fury. The sea-blue hair, the faint shimmer of scales at her temples, the blue glow of her irises — Merfolk, unquestionably. She had been waiting. This wasn't a random ambush.
"Die, you bitch!" she shrieked, lunging forward to drive the spike into Jayla's heart.
Jayla snorted. Instead of retreating, she stepped into the attack. Her right hand shot out like a viper, her fingers locking around the female's wrist with unyielding force.
She squeezed. She targeted the pressure point precisely. The female howled in pain, her fingers spasming open. The bone spike clattered to the ground.
Using the female's own forward momentum against her, Jayla pivoted at the hips. She yanked the attacker over her shoulder and slammed her face-first into the muddy, leaf-covered ground. The impact knocked the wind out of the female.
Before the girl could gasp for air, Jayla dropped one knee onto her back. She wrenched both of the girl's arms behind her back, pinning her to the earth like a butterfly on a board.
The entire counterattack took less than three seconds. It was fluid, brutal, and absolute.
"Who sent you?" Jayla demanded, her voice cold enough to freeze water. She stared down at the back of the girl's head, her eyes devoid of mercy.
The female struggled wildly, her cheek pressed into the dirt. She spat out a mouthful of mud and blood. "I'll kill you for what you did to my brother!"
Brother. The word triggered a rapid search in Jayla's newly acquired memories. She matched the blue hair, the facial structure, the particular shade of Merfolk irises. This was Riona Butler. Jordi's sister. She hadn't been sent by anyone. She had come on her own, probably tracking Jordi's blood trail to this cave, and had found his tormentor standing in the sunlight like she owned the place.
Jayla's grip on Riona's arms loosened by a fraction. The killing intent in her eyes faded, replaced by a weary resignation. She couldn't kill the sister of the man she was supposed to heal. She also, if she was being honest with herself, couldn't entirely blame the girl for trying.
Suddenly, a horrible scraping sound echoed from inside the cave. It was the sound of scales — ruined scales — dragging across stone.
Jordi had heard the fight.
He was crawling out of the cave. The sunlight hit his eyes, making him squint in pain, but he didn't stop. He dragged his mutilated lower body across the rough ground, his hands clawing at the earth to pull himself forward.
"Riona! Run!" Jordi screamed, his voice raw and desperate. He was trying to get to Jayla, to put himself between her and his sister. He had nothing left — no scales, no power, no dignity — but he was still moving. Still trying to protect someone he loved with a body that could barely function.
His fingernails tore as he scrambled over the rocks, leaving bloody smears. He didn't seem to feel it. He just kept pulling himself forward, a man willing to be torn apart to save his family.
Seeing his desperate struggle, something twisted in Jayla's chest. It wasn't sentimentality. It was the cold, clear recognition of what she was actually dealing with: a male who had been stripped of everything the Beast World defined as worth living for, and who was still, somehow, choosing to fight for someone else. The mission briefing called him a target. Looking at him now, she thought that was an obscene word for what he was.
She let go of Riona and stood up. She did not move toward Jordi. She understood enough about traumatized Beast-kin by now to know that her approaching him would only register as a threat. Instead, she took two deliberate steps back, away from both of them, and turned her body sideways — the universal posture of non-aggression, in any world.
"Jordi," she said. She kept her voice flat and even. Not gentle — gentle had already proven to be a trigger. Just neutral. A voice that wasn't asking anything of him. "I'm not going to touch you."
But to Jordi, the sound of her voice was the tolling of a bell. He saw her figure standing over his sister and his mind supplied the rest, filling the gaps with every cruelty the original Jayla had ever performed. He scrambled backward, his hands frantically pushing against the dirt.
His torn nails dug into the soil, blood mixing with the mud. He didn't seem to register the pain, his only thought to get between her and Riona.
"Don't touch her! Take me! Do whatever you want to me, just let her go!" he sobbed, the words tumbling out in a rush — not a bargain, not a choice, just the only calculation his shattered mind could still perform.
Riona scrambled to her feet, throwing herself in front of her brother. She bared her teeth at Jayla like a mother wolf protecting her cub.
Jayla stopped. She looked at the two of them — the fierce sister and the broken brother. A Merfolk male who had survived things that should have killed him, and a girl who had tracked his blood trail through a Beast World wilderness to find him, armed with nothing but a bone spike and rage.
Brute force and sweet talk weren't going to bridge this chasm of hate. And she had approximately seven more of these confrontations waiting for her across the continent.
She exhaled slowly through her nose.
This, she thought, is going to take a while.
